pits and bieces
by Simplywaters
Summary: A collection of one-shots and half-started works for the Harry Potter verse. Most are just exercises / spur-of-the-moment things. Questions and comments are always appreciated! Flame on!
1. Sacrifice

I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profits from this ficlet or any that follow.

After a bit I realized I had a bunch of little fics and starts for the Harry Potter verse (or various interpretations of it) so I decided to dump them all here after renaming the original one-shot.

This one is just something I wrote probably a year ago and just came back across. This is pretty AU when compared to the cannon epilog but it was a fun exercise and I enjoyed both writing and reading it later so decided to share. Very light on details which is unusual for me but fun none the less.

* * *

Sacrifice.

Destruction or surrender of something for something else; Something given up or lost.

It was the definition that best fit his life.

He had lost his parents. He had lost the chance to grow up as a child. He had lost the chance to be normal. He had been groomed and raised for one purpose, to put an end to something. Everything in his life had conspired to make him incapable of demanding anything.

She was smart, "brilliant, but scary" as Ron had so eloquently put it years ago.

She was pretty, he hadn't noticed first but Krum hadn't been the best seeker in the world for nothing. _His _eyes had immediately spotted potential that everyone else had missed.

She was caring. Every effort had been made on her part to make his life better, from schoolwork to emotions and everything in between.

She was loyal, never once considering leaving him no matter how desperate the situation they found themselves in.

He was just so emotionally stunted he hadn't been able to grasp what his body and mind were desperately trying to inform him of until Ron had already started showing interest in her as well.

Sacrifice.

Ron wanted her, so Harry Potter could never stand in the way. He wasn't allowed to do that, to _want_ things. So he never let his emotions develop further, forced the possibilities away.

She had eventually returned the other boy's feelings, and so Harry let her go. Not with a fight, but just an unheard whimper that he chided himself for.

* * *

The one thing he thought he wanted in his life was a family that loved him. He had gotten that, in a way. No one had ever survived a Killing curse before, and after two Harry found his desires for children of his own could never come true the natural way. Luckily for him Ron and Hermione had let him continue to drift around them as they began to build their life together.

He stood in the door frame, watching her fret about the room. White silk hugging her body and radiant even in her frazzled state.

Sacrifice.

Ron was a good man, not the best man, but a good man. He would love her and cherish her for his whole life. She loved him and he made her laugh, smile, all the skills Harry had sacrificed in life were present in him. They would be happy.

Sacrifice.

Just once. Just this once he would take something he wanted. His body _burned_ at the thought, searing pain at the audacity of his decision.

A quiet _Imperio_ stilled her nervousness. Warm chocolate eyes met his and he could see outrage at his betrayal in them. The first true betrayal he had ever committed in his life. Stabbing pain through his whole body but it didn't stop him.

Just once he would take what he wanted. No, wanting wasn't allowed, what he _needed_.

The syringe easily broke the skin of her elbow. Vibrant red fluid filling the vial. Two minutes and a quick charm later her skin was once again unblemished and the vial slipped quietly into his pocket. He can't meet her eyes yet, trembling as wave after wave of pain rips through him over his selfishness. A simple memory charm covers his heinous crime and the outrage and betrayal vanish in the course of a blink.

"I'm sorry."

She'll forget those five minutes of her life. Forget them forever if his plan fails.

Her wedding day was perfect. Ron, acting like the true gentleman he was becoming, and Hermione the blushing bride that sparked a flurry of weddings throughout wizarding society. He had been the best man, handing his friend the ring that would finally take his little mismatched family away from him.

Sacrifice.

* * *

A month later he was gone. Disappearing from the world as his estates were split amongst those he had called family and friends, he never had use for it. He lost himself deep in the wilderness, tracking ley-lines of power for the one place that could grant his single selfish wish.

Just once.

The knife spills his blood into the basin, mixing and melding with hers inside the massive circle of runes. Dark magic at work. Magic that would see him dead if he made the slightest mistake. Magic that others would use to condemn him for years if they knew. Magic that could lash back against _Her_ as well, but in the end he has to do it. Needs to do it.

To sacrifice is his way, his lot, and his fate. But just once he will fight against it, fight to become something just a little more whole.

* * *

She's beautiful. Black, bushy hair and dark eyes. Only a hint of his own green shining back from the tiny bundle wrapped in his arms. Fat, healthy limbs and a set of lungs that would put Molly Weasley to shame.

He didn't have long left anymore, but he made the most of that time. Eleven years spent raising the perfect child. Watching as she grew everyday, smiling as more and more of her mother came to the surface. On her eleventh birthday the letter came, and he knew his time was up.

Sacrifice.

Life can't be created through magic. However it can be taken by force or given away through choice. As a fairly powerful wizard Harry was expected to live to be over one-hundred and twenty years of age. At thirty his time was almost up.

He brought her to the station hours early. Waiting patiently for his lost family to show. They didn't disappoint.

Ron had filled out, bigger then life with a voice and presence to match. Boyishness was still draped around him like a cloak and Harry felt his lips form a smile.

Hermione _glowed. _Pride in herself and her accomplishments, smiling at some comment from Ron. Her first son's hands hands tight in her own as she pointed to the train.

When he approached, his daughters hand lightly held in his own, he saw the initial shock fade into joy over each of their faces. His family was back together. Quick introductions were all the time they had left before their children were boarding the train. After the red steam-engine had pulled away Harry turned back to face them, arms around each other.

"She's yours." He whispered, placing a small folder in their hands.

Just once he had decided that being a simple sacrifice wasn't enough, and that one choice had made everything else worth it.

He let his hold over Hermione's memory finally slip. Watching as realization, hurt, and morbid understanding welled into those gorgeous eyes. They were the last thing he saw before his body collapsed, never to rise again. Ninety years of life happily given so that he could have eleven with a daughter. A daughter from the woman he loved.

Because in the end Harry Potter was not a hero, he was just a sacrifice.

* * *

I know this doesn't really fit anywhere in the established cannon, and I never read the final two books in the series or even watched the movies (honestly from what I've heard I didn't really miss anything awesome in the books and thus had no real incentive to watch the movies.). From what I've gathered Harry basically never became the hero I was waiting for him to become. And if he wasn't a hero, or a villain, then he was just a means to an end. Something created ultimately for the purpose of being destroyed, to be sacrificed.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Or hate it enough to give me a piece of your mind. As a mere dabbler in this series (currently at least) I honestly won't feel bad if you need to rage and howl at how I messed everything up, but it was interesting to write and hopefully equally enjoyable to read.

_~Simply**Waters~**_


	2. Magical Britain

A little ficlet I wrote. Originally it was gonna be a kind of xover with DnD and the modern (ok semi-modern world). It was also an exercise in writing from a different perspective then my usual. Had fun, figured I'd throw it up. Next chapter was a second attempt at the same general idea.

I own nothing.

* * *

You can learn a lot about life as a kid. You learn more when you come to a realization on your eighth birthday that no one in your life cares about you. I was never all that smart compared to some, but I had an epiphany that day. My uncle and father figure for eight years had finally decided he was done 'coddling' me and letting me 'steal his hard-won bread'. The only reason I'm alive today is because I wandered into the kitchen for some water and overheard him mumbling to himself as he sharpened his dagger.

Thirty seconds later I was half a street over and still running like the hounds of hell were out for my blood. Thirty minutes after that I was curled up in a grimy alley shivering against a wall and wondering what the hell I was going to do next. Thirty hours passed and I was wiping the blood off my new tattoo, a small circle inside a triangle bisected with a simple line on the left side of my neck, and a new member in one of the many packs of children that made up London's 'Rat-packs'. A 'Hallow' to be specific.

London is one of the shining, not literally but figuratively speaking, examples of humanities innovation at it's finest. Magic and steam powering great multi-colored lights, large buildings and towers casting shadows over different parts of the city any time besides high-noon, with ever more wonders and horrors appearing every day as one mad mage or crazy inventor after another adds their particular flavor of insanity to the mix. Rich mages fly over the peaked roofs and around towers on their brooms and carpets, the streets can fill with well-dressed merchants or rugged adventurers, but underneath it all the 'Rats' scrape by in the sewers and slums.

Life as a 'Rat' wasn't easy, you brought home something of use every day or you payed for it somehow. Money, food, or equipment. Any of those bought you another day free of beatings. Some of the older kids occasionally took pity on us newbies and showed us a few skills from time to time. How to lift a purse and be gone for hours before the robbed individual ever thought to check, how to hide from the bobbies when they came through with their sticks and collars, how to open the lock on the grocers door so we could make off with enough food to fill our tiny bellies enough too suffer for another day.

The first couple months are the hardest on a 'rat', most are still dealing with the loss of their family. Needless to say most 'Rats' aren't running away from a life of luxury, course we had some like me who were escaping from an already tough home-life, but the rest were mainly orphans who's families had been ripped apart by one guild-feud or another. Sprinkle in some 'black sheep' or call-girls bastard from the odd noble family and 'Tahda', the Rat-Packs were born.

We would stake out territory's and wander from abandoned house to abandoned house within our zones. Swipe some food, lighten some pockets, break a few windows and then split for another area. 'Rats' rarely look out for each other any more then they have too, if you got caught by the bobbies no one was gonna come looking for you, and if you got sick or hurt no-one was gonna cover your share of the work for you. Luckily you usually could pick up more coppers sitting outside a tavern coughing up blood then you could steal anyway.

Most territory's were big, even the smallest being several square miles. They had to be to avoid the bobbies when they got in the mood for a 'Rat-round-up'. Any kid with ink on their skin was fair game and if you got caught you'd never be seen again. Us 'Hallows' usually had a decent sized territory, plenty of run down abandoned buildings to move around in and plenty of business around the area to keep making our quota's. We were guides, messenger boys, beggars and thieves. The kind of riff-raff that honest folk got queasy around, feeling guilty about not helping us but knowing if they did it would only end poorly for them. Since the size of our little family constantly changed our territory changed as well, growing or shrinking as required.

Once you got big enough the head 'Rat' would put a club, or if you were really lucky a knife, in your hands and you became part of their 'muscle'. I was almost ten before a knife was slapped into my hand and I was made responsible for helping police our territory from other packs. After that weapon hit your hands you learned a whole new set of skills or you died forgotten in a dirty puddle on some rarely traveled street. Children can be the cruelest things alive if put in the right mind-set.

I learned quickly that charging ahead was how you died the quickest, so instead I taught myself to hit from angles that most didn't think about. Let that dumb Red-spot 'Rat' wander a couple streets into our territory then drop a five pound rock on him from the roof, no risk and they usually had something on them to cover your quota for the day. They spent so much time watching the street anticipating a fight most didn't even see the rock before it squished their head.

A lot of us died, friends were hard to make when every day someone was keeling over with a split skull, or vomiting too much after eating something rotten; or just not waking up after a fever. Once in a while one of us couldn't bear it anymore and would take the easy way out, after the first few suicides you find it hard to get worked up over the next one. I survived because I had the quickest hands anyone in the Hallows had ever seen and reflexes to match.

That hand-eye coordination was what moved me up from 'muscle' to 'herding', keeping an eye on the younger kids and marking them off as they brought in their quotas for the day. I never kept anything for myself, you can only pay for that mistake once, but it opened up one of the few doors available to a 'Rat' who wants to live more then a few years. I met with the Head Rat and the representative of the local Guild who let us live and do business, for a healthy cut of course. I was a lucky 'Rat', fast hands and more honest then the next three combined. Because of that I was allowed to meet Sirius Black, and that is where my life really began.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

"Top wants to see you Lightning."

I had heard Teary as he dashed down the hall towards my room. He was one of the kids I had taken under my wing more then most but he had more then repaid me for the investment. He had become one the of 'muscle' a few weeks after me and ended up scouting and watching my back. I showed him the ropes and he had taken more then one club or stab for me since. Once I started my current job of 'herding' he was allowed to work with me.

"Blondie is gonna need some of that paste from the herbalist. Her fever doesn't look like it's gonna break otherwise." pushing away from the small pile of rags that made up Blondie's bed I met Teary's blue-eyes with my own.

"No problem, I'll have Two-toe and Smiles pitch in with me. Two hours and we'll have it." he was going to be bigger then me, already creeping past me in height even though I had a year over him in age. Brown hair, ragged like all of us, fell to his shoulders and his ratty clothes still hung loose on his thin frame.

"Have Little Hand keep an eye on her once he gets back." I slipped past Teary on my way out the door and heard him mumble a response to my request.

Our names were picked in an effort to keep new kids from feeling left out. The day you got tattooed a couple of the older boys would look you over and pick out a name for you. I got mine for the lightning bolt scar on my forehead, Teary had been crying during his own inking and the name stuck.

We were holed up in an old warehouse for this week, the main floor of the building was littered with pallets of rags or stuffing that made up the beds of our little Pack. I had one of the small rooms since I was working to keep a couple of my little 'Rats' on this side of life, the rest of my runts were working double so everyone's quota could be made but none had complained yet. Raking my shaggy black hair out of my eyes I made sure to watch my step as I crossed the floor and started up the stairs to the managers office that Top had taken over.

Passing a couple more Hallows who were lounging outside his office as guards I knocked on the battered wooden panel and waited. Barging in on Top was a great way to get killed out of hand, he was twitchy and if he even suspected you heard something he didn't want you to know you ended up in the gutter bleeding to death before the day was out. There was some shuffling before Tops gruff 'Come in' rattled through the door. Grabbing the squeaky handle I pushed into the room and glanced around.

Top was there, all six feet of muscle and grit of him behind a battered desk littered with small stacks of coin. His black hair was chopped short, though still ragged looking since none of us could cut hair worth spit, and his features were more brutish then anything. He was never kind, but he was never abusive either. What Top wanted he got, and as long as he got it he was fine with ignoring his 'Rats'. The last Head would never have let me get away with buying medicine for my charges, so I was more then happy under his leadership.

Our guild representative was also present. A skinny, weasel like man who carried a rapier openly on his hip and wore a disgusted expression every time I saw him. He dressed in fine wools and boots, mostly in dark shades. We called him Weasel and he showed no interest in actually giving up his real name or giving us a different monicker to use.

The third figure I had never seen before and had my muscles drawing tight even as I laid eyes on him. A hooded cloak shadowed his face and a dark shirt, vest and pants tucked into soft boots. His arms were crossed as he leaned back against the far wall and I could feel his eyes boring holes through me. My fingers twitched towards the dagger tucked into my waistband as the man jumped a little after I cleared the door.

"You called Top?"

"Guild wants to look at you." He grunted in reply, waving towards Weasel and Hood. That made me nervous.

The guild bought all the girls that ended up in the 'Rats' as soon as they turned thirteen, or started growing noticeable female bits. Top let them be sold because if he didn't the guild would just take them off the street for free. Most of the girls then ended up working as maids, servers, or in brothels. Boys would sometimes be sold as well, and for generally the same duties. This quickly pushed my nervousness into outright paranoia.

Sucking in a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds I made a few tentative steps towards the two Guild men. Hood pushed back off the wall and in two steps was less then a foot from me. Gritting my teeth I jumped when his hand gripped my jaw and roughly pushed my head from side to side. I could feel his eyes scouring my features and had to hold back a whimper. Hood towered over me at this range and I couldn't stop my left hand from inching closer and closer towards my dagger.

"How old are you?" His voice was smooth, an almost melodic quality to it that would have soothed most people. Right at this moment, with his hands still gripping my chin, it wasn't helping me calm down in the slightest.

"T-twelve." I mumble as he finally releases my jaw and takes a half-step back.

"Almost too old, let me think." I could feel my worn shoes inching backwards and my left hand was wrapped painfully tight around my daggers hilt. I refused to let my panic show on my face, steeling my features in a neutral expression, no one feels pity for a crying 'Rat'.

"Forty." Hood finally stated after several tense minutes, I could feel my heart start to hammer at my ribs.

I was a good 'Rat', I was excellent muscle, and I was one of the best at watching over the younger Rats. I would be a perfect lieutenant in another year or two if Top didn't get paranoid about me trying to replace him. I had expected that path, planned for it since joining the Hallows. And now my dreams were crashing down around me as my life suddenly had a price-tag. Forty silver was a lot for a girl, most went for twenty to twenty-five. A young male 'Rat' could expect to pull fifteen, and I had never heard of anyone old enough to be 'muscle' getting sold.

At least he understood I was worth more then most.

"Not enough, Lightning is one of our best." Top grunted, fixing Hood with his glare. "He's already made me twice that in the last two moons."

I felt relief for a second, a crushing weight lifted just a fraction as my fate delicately swung from one possibility to the next.

"In gold." and the weight was back. I trembled even as Top choked out his hasty acceptance and greedily fondled the small bag that was tossed to him from Hood. "I'll take him now."

_Like hell you will_! My mind snarled, arm trembling as I waited. The second he touched me Hood would be bleeding out on the floor. Then his eyes flashed underneath the hood and I felt my arms dragged to my sides, dagger still clenched in my fist. The pressure wasn't painful, but it resisted all my efforts to move, like I had been encased in velvet-clad stone.

"I'm done here. I'll leave you gentlemen to your business." and with that Hood swept past me through the door, and my feet followed against my will as my dagger dropped to the floor.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

I fought for what felt like hours. Each step I resisted with every muscle in my body, trying to throw myself under a carriage, off a bridge, I even started shouting when I saw a group of bobbies. My mouth was forced shut the second it opened and I was left raging against the world as my body walked quietly alongside Hood.

Streams of people parted around us, some looking at me with disgust, others pity. But none even paused or attempted to raise their hand. I was a 'Rat', whatever the man wanted to do with me I had obviously earned the second the tattoo on my neck was put there. If I wasn't panicking and begging any god I could remember for help I wouldn't have been surprised.

So we walked. We had passed the outskirts of the territory that had been my life for almost five years in the blink of an eye. As the outer walls of London loomed ahead I finally accepted my chance of seeing any of my Pack-mates again were practically non-existent. Even if I freed myself from whatever magic Hood had bound me with I would never make it back through all the twisting streets and foreign Packs territories without at least one serious incident.

That was the thought that calmed me. I was alone, completely cut off from any of the meager resources I had access to. It was humbling in a way to see how little my world had become.

At the gate Hood discretely passed another bag to one of the guards and we were ushered through, passing under the walls of the city that had always been my home. As we passed through the final barrier the world opened up before me, endless expanses of golden fields and small groups of cottages dotting them like freckles.

Hoods hand came down on my shoulder and my body tried to jump, but was blocked by the mysterious pressure again. He guided me along the wall until it's shadow finally swept over us.

"We're going home, Harry." he whispered, and then the world faded away and all I could see was endless grey and black shadows.

Before I could muster the thought to scream colors exploded back into being and I stumbled, falling onto a hard wood floor. A heartbeat later a pair of arms encircled me and crushed me against a firm chest. I flailed, swinging my fists with every bit of effort I had into everything I could reach. Those powerful arms just grew tighter until my struggles finally died off.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I could hear the choked emotions in his voice, one of his hands gently shifting through my dirt caked hair. Trembling from exertion I knelt, uncertainty holding my efforts to escape in check.

"I found you. I was looking for you for so long. They said you died but I didn't believe them, couldn't believe them." the hug returned to bone-breaking tightness as tears started to splatter against my face.

"Who are you?" I asked after the man finally cried himself out.

The hood was pushed back and a face exposed. Thick black hair and aristocratic features finally coming to light. A light growth of black hair covered his strong jaw and piercing grey eyes darted across my face before coming to rest on my own.

"I'm your Godfather. Sirius Black." anything else he was going to try and say was cut off as he choked back another sob and dragged me into another rib bruising hug.

* * *

Had potential which is why I wrote the next chapter, they don't quite line up but if I ever decide to continue this story it wouldn't be hard to mix them.

_~Simply_**Waters~**


	3. Magical Britain 2

This was the second chapter I wrote up from the same idea as the last one. This is written more in my usual style, though there is a lot more dialog then I habitually add.

Still own nothing and make no profit from my work.

* * *

"Magic is natures greatest gift. Those born with it are inherently _better_, instinctively _stronger_, and even withstand the irresistible march of time for longer then those without can imagine. We wizards and witches are a superior breed of man, the muggles a poor imitation of our majesty. So is there any room to doubt why we rule them? Because it is our divine right, nay, duty to watch over and guide our lesser cousins in their struggle to simply survive."

"While it is true we are naturally superior in many ways that is no reason to oppress an innovative, thinking collective of people. The muggles may lack the ability to use most magic, but their constant questioning and desire to _understand_ it and it's limitations often leads to the creation of ever more amazing feats. We should view them as _different,_ but not lesser."

"And that would be our downfall. For every wizard or witch born there are hundreds of muggles. Treating these muggles as equals will lead to our people being oppressed for our gifts. They will use us, drain us, _command_ us until there is no more magic left in the world."

"You are over dramatizing the situation. All the greatest inventions of the last century, including the very Airships you now command, came from teams of muggles and magicals working together. If we can just-"

"UNDER THE DIRECTION OF WIZARDS! It is only through our guidance that these peons ever had any greater goal then their next meal or desire to propagate. They were _primitive_ until _we_ decided to raise them up from squalor. Now you would give the product of our experimentation rights equal to our own? You are a fool Albus, wizards are the rightful kings of this world and there is no reason for us to listen to the demands of our servants."

"They have advanced greatly over the centuries we have cared for them. They consistently adapt and improvise faster then we can. Their habit of questioning everything has lead to far deeper understandings of magic then ever before. They have earned the right to be heard in the direction our nation takes, the colonies have-"

"I will not hear of this... travesty the people of the colonies have undertaken. Their government has fumbled along for a mere decade under it's new leadership. Within the century wizards will be forced to either resume control, or find themselves chained down and exploited by the muggles."

"Tom, I implore you to reconsider. We are coming up to the dawn of a new century, one where working _with_ muggles instead of ruling them may very well save us. Birth rates of pure magicals are slowing dramatically, but more and more muggles are birthing children who carry anything from the smallest hints to overwhelming potential magic. Soon their will be more wizards and witches born from muggles then pure-blood lines, and when that happens our current policies of oppression will cause massive upheavals! There will be a civil war where we stand to lose _everything_, where as a few concessions now will ultimately save our nation and peoples."

"It is our right to rule. Any wizard who argues against this is a traitor to the very blood in their veins. Magical children can be removed from their families and raised in a manner fitting their gifts. There is no need for them to grow attached to the cattle that brought them into this world."

"Then we have reached an impasse. I cannot let you continue in this path Tom, not when I can see our destruction so very clearly at the end of it."

"So be it. I admit I will miss our talks, it is not often one gets a chance to converse with another archmage."

"Our numbers have grown few since the fall of Atlantis, but perhaps in the future we may yet see a resurgence of talented young mages. You yourself demonstrate that the potential is not yet entirely lost to us."

"Indeed, it would be a rare honor to find one worthy of a true apprenticeship instead of mere schooling. I envy that you had such an opportunity."

"It was a happier time. You were an excellent student, Tom, and I am sorry that it has come to this."

"I wish you luck, Albus. You will need every bit of it if you persist in this foolishness."

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

Albus Dumbledore, Archmagi and Headmaster of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, ambled lightly through the sprawling halls of the castle that housed his many students. Tapestries and armor lined the walls and torches bathed the interior of the school in warm light. Classes were in session so the sounds of laughter and gossip that usually floated through the air were absent, leaving only the soft footsteps of the aging Headmaster to fill the void.

"Whizzing-fizz-bang" he spoke after reaching the stone Gargoyle that guarded the stairs to his office. The animated creature was quick to step aside and allow him passage. Revolving stairs carried him for several seconds before depositing him at the door to his seat of power.

Several chairs were arrayed before a heavy wooden desk, a multitude of bookshelves filling the back half of the office and the walls arrayed with portraits or shelves of whirling silver artifacts. Crossing the thick carpets Albus seated himself in the large, well-cushioned chair behind the desk and sighed. There was much work to be done, and much of it not possible if he kept his current seat.

"Would you ask Minnerva to visit at her earliest convenience?" a brief flash of flame announced the arrival of his familiar.

Brilliant red and orange feathers covered the fairly large bird and it's black eyes calmly eyed the Headmaster for a few seconds. A soft trill filtered through the office as the phoenix landed on an ancient shoulder and rubbed it's head against it's masters own. Waves of calm and trusting emotions radiating off the creature gently soothing the offices human occupant.

"Thank you Fawkes. I fear we shall be put under a great deal more pressure in the coming years." another brief song and the bird flapped its wings once and vanished in a ball of flame.

Albus passed the next hour pouring over paperwork concerning school activities, budgets, and requests. Hogwarts was the primer school for magic within the nation of Britian, helping young wizards and witches learn to control and manage their abilities. Hundreds of students, from those barely able to light a candle to the few who could create flames more akin to the breath of a dragon, made the castle home for the majority of their teenage years. Studying various forms of magic, its rich history, and even delving into creation of magical items or new spells if they desired.

Students were never required to stop attending, though after reaching their twenties those that remained were asked to pay for their rooms and food. This could be off-set by assisting the teaching staff, either by teaching themselves or helping manage the student body. The final outcome was a castle with wizards and witches of all ages who loved and explored the infinite possibilities of magic as a family. When the rumble of the guardian and stairs was heard Albus set aside the last of his paperwork and settled into his seat to await his deputy.

"Headmaster." as a witch Minerva McGonagall looked to be in her mid thirty's instead of the sixty she actually carried in years. Albus let a small smile cross his lips and gestured to one of the chairs before him.

"We have much to discuss Minerva."

"Your meeting with Tom ended poorly I take it?" a wave of her hand and one of the chairs shifted and expanded into a similar style to the Headmasters own seat before she settled into it.

"He will not be moved from his path, despite my many attempts to reason with him. I fear within the next decade he and I shall be at each others throats."

"Heavens no!" slumping in her chair the witch sighed as Albus sadly shook his head.

"I cannot stand aside and watch my former apprentice crush the majority of our nations inhabitants underneath his heel. My principals will not allow such blatant miss-use of the gifts we are given to go unimpeded." a worn hand brushed under half-moon spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I cannot let our squabble drag itself into this school. Hogwarts has always been a peaceful location, a safe-house for young magicals to learn and grow, therefore I shall be retiring from my position as Headmaster at the end of the year."

"Albus, you can't mean that." shock covered Minerva's face as she leaned forward. "You have been Headmaster for over four decades!"

"I will _not_ allow war to infect _my_ school!" Albus almost snarled, a fist slamming into the sturdy desktop. "Tom is _my_ responsibility, and his course of action will bring war and destruction on a greater scale then even Grindelwald's revolution. I cannot stop him with less then the entirety of my focus and I cannot focus on him entirely when my school could fall under attack in any one of his retaliatory strikes!"

Leaning back Minerva massaged her temples for a moment before once again meeting the Headmasters eyes.

"I see."

"I wish it were not so, Minerva, but remaining Headmaster while preparing for war would be a tragic display of overconfidence that I _cannot_ afford. You have handled far more of the castles responsibilities then any Deputy Headmistress in the past three centuries, you are more then capable of stepping into my role here fully by the end of the year." pausing Albus let his lips twist into a small smirk.

"I will of course be more then happy to offer advice or counsel if you should feel the need." his smirk turned into light laughter as Minerva's half-hearted glare.

"On a lighter note, how fares your favorite student?" Albus saw a small smile cross Minerva's usually stern face.

"She is a true joy to teach. A quick mind and almost instinctual understanding of magic combined with her love of reading makes it almost difficult to find things to teach faster then she can learn them. If you were not retiring I would almost suggest you begin offering her tutelage yourself."

"Truly? Perhaps I may find some need in the coming years for a bright young witch to assist me in some... side projects. Has her social status changed much since our last talk?"

"Somewhat. She still mostly remains by herself in the library or common rooms. I put her in several group projects she preformed well in but failed to form lasting friendships after the completion of the assignment. General consensus of the students in her classes is that she is perhaps a bit... overbearing and over prepared."

"Bossy and a know-it-all?" Albus casually remarked and was rewarded a slight nod. "Perhaps we should have her help with some tutoring with the next batch of students, they would slightly younger then her instead of three years her senior."

"I'll admit I was worried that she wouldn't preform well when we allowed her entry at ten instead of twelve, but her academic performance has never failed to be remarkable. I agree that perhaps having her interacting with students her own age might bring her out of her shell somewhat."

"Excellent, then I believe I have taken enough of your time Minerva, please feel free to return to your class." a brief farewell and Albus was left to deal with the remainder of his paperwork for the day.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

"You should find time to take a walk." Albus glanced across the large table at the head of the great hall where the teachers took their meals to find Sybill Trelawney's unfocused eyes staring into his own. "You'll discover something you need." an owlish blink later and the woman had turned back to her food.

Sybill was an odd teacher, focusing most of her class time on the magical arts of Divination. Scrying, palm reading, and opening the mind for visions were covered in many of her sessions. Most serious students only attended a few before focusing their efforts elsewhere, but a few swore by its effectiveness and still more gossips were happy to spend a few hours a week learning under her care. Albus had never shown any aptitude for the subject himself so rarely indulged in personal attempts to channel or sway fate for answers.

"Perhaps I will." he mused lightly, pushing the thought to the back of his mind for the remainder of the day.

It was a week before he found the time to take a stroll around the castle, it's grounds, and the near-by town of Hogsmead. At the end of the two hour stroll Albus found himself refreshed and thought nothing more of the subject.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

"Students, before you leave for the summer I would like to leave you with a few words." standing tall at his position in the center of the head table Albus let his gaze wander over the massive assembly of students before him. He felt a tear gather in his eye as he tried to burn the image of so many cheerful wizards and witches into his mind forever.

"This will be the last year I am Headmaster of Hogwarts." there were several outbursts throughout the room and Albus raised a hand to still them. "I have been gifted with forty wonderful years where I watched over my students growing into witches and wizards who changed the world. I was able to watch you all laugh, cry, and play under my care. Each of you and all my former students are special to me and as much as I wish to remain I find my time left is simply not enough for the things I still wish to accomplish. I shall be leaving you under the watchful eye of our own Minerva Mcgonagall." a brief roar of approval and clapping rocked the castle before the students calmed.

"This is not good-bye my dear students." He continued, voice quiet but somehow still reaching the farthest corners of the room with ease. "I look forward to seeing and meeting with you in the future. After your graduation many of you will leave this castle, starting businesses, exploring the world, or perhaps seeking additional education elsewhere. I will no longer be living within these halls with you, but do not fear to seek me out when your own time to leave comes. I will be looking forward to see how much you grow, both as people, and wizards or witches. And with that said, let us enjoy the feast!" a clap of his hands filled the many long tables with steaming dishes and the hall was once again briefly filled with clapping and cheers before the students turned to their food.

Albus took his own seat, but did not partake of the many plates before him, instead he let his eyes wander from child to child. He had not found time to offer more then a few sparse classes of his own, but every one had been filled to bursting. A few times he had to relocate the class to the great hall to have room for all the students who wanted to listen to his lectures.

"_Many of you will be soldiers in the near future._" he couldn't help but shudder at the revelation, or that some of these children would place themselves against him in the brewing conflict. Open warfare was rapidly becoming inevitable, for the first time in thirty years. Sadly Tom Riddle's political stance was very similar to that of Gellert Grindelwald, the perpetrator of the last session of open war in Britain, and Albus was bound by his morals to stand just as firmly against the newest leader of the movement.

"They are too young for this." he mumbled quietly, watching a small group of teens break into laughter over a joke.

"They won't be forever, Albus." Minerva's calm voice murmured back. "We can protect and nurture them here, but all birds leave the nest eventually."

"I cannot describe how painful it is knowing that I will be responsible for the deaths of some of these fine students in the future."

"Many years ago a wise man once told a student in class there are two things in life. What is easy, and what is right." her tone was comforting as a hand came to rest over Albus' own. "Standing aside and letting these supremacist fools proceed unimpeded is _easy_, standing against them even when they corrupt the children you have cared for against you is not. But it is the path that will ultimately save lives."

Meeting the stern Headmistresses eyes Albus slowly nodded and they shared a chuckle, the irony of the situation coloring the mood. Taking a deep breath he forced a smile and began loading his plate.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

Albus had taken some time for a walk, in previous years he would have been behind his desk preparing for the new school year beginning in a few days. Now he instead spent his time bartering, pleading, and cajoling others into supporting his rising movement. The Order of the Phoenix had been almost completely left to rot after Grindelwald's defeat and imprisonment in his own frozen fortress. It's revival was a slow and tedious process but Dumbledore threw himself into the work. This would be one of the last few times he would have the ability to walk the streets of Britain without expecting a confrontation so he took a few hours from his schedule to enjoy the last of his freedom.

The streets of Surrey were choked in the summer heat, peddlers hawking their wares creating a calming sort of racket. The buildings were wood and stone, towering several stories and packed close together to create winding streets and sometimes narrow crossings. Well packed dirt of the main street met with rough boardwalks that extended a few feet from the buildings. Horses and steam-powered carriages of the more well-off citizens hogged the majority of the dirt roads while the rest of the people wandered back and forth over the boardwalk.

Sentries, large animated hulks of stone and metal powered by alchemical formulas and magic, watched the crowd with unblinking stone eyes. Their human commanders often lounging or browsing stands as they made their rounds through the city.

"_How long till I find you chasing after me?"_ Albus couldn't help but ponder watching a particularly young Auror. Tom had become the Admiral of Britain's formidable Navy and it's Marines, but his influence was still weak in the Auror corps, the men and women who policed the majority of Britain's citizens and cities.

Giving the young man a wave the former Headmaster continued his trek through the dusty air. Eventually the buildings began to lean and display signs of neglect as he found himself further and further from the city proper and entered the ghetto's that always surrounded them. Unperturbed the aging Archmage continued his stroll through the thinning crowds, soon finding himself one of the few who wandered the splintered boards near the edge of Little Whinging.

Multiple scratched or painted graffiti symbols began to appear, marks of the inhabitants to claim their territory. Several blocks later Albus frowned as he noticed a repeating symbol, once again drawn over the top of another. A circle within a triangle bisected with a simple line, written in thick black paint. Eying the symbol for a few seconds Albus shrugged and continued his walk, it was unusual for one 'Rat-pack' of disowned or orphaned children to have their mark scrawled over such a wide area or he would have never given it a second thought.

"This is it. The Packs are fed up with you trying to hold shit over us Shadow, Tucker was the last straw." Albus heard a strangled yell from a nearby alley.

"Tucker broke the rules."

"Bullshit. This is Pack territory, your rules aren't worth a fart."

"You set up in Hallow territory, you respect the rules and there will be no trouble." Albus stretched his stride and circled the corner to take in the confrontation.

Three ragged teens crowded an equally disheveled smaller teen against a wall, small red and white tattoos showing membership to one of the Rat-Packs were drawn on the left side of the trios necks. The last boy had a makeshift cowl covering his head and leaned casually against the wall.

"Their isn't any damn Hallow territory. The Hallow's don't exist Shadow! It's just you." the cowled boy shrugged before replying.

"Doesn't matter. This is still my territory and there are three simple rules. You don't draw attention to home, you share food, and you don't kill little Rats. Tucker beat Sally when she came up three coppers short last week. She didn't wake up so Tucker got what was coming to him."

"Sally was none of your business! She was a Red Spot and we discipline ourselves, we don't need _your_ kind trying to interfere." one of the Spots snarled, stepping forward aggressively.

Cowl's arm blurred and there were two distinct sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the Spot lurched backwards with red spots blossoming on each cheek. As the other two started forward a shiny shiv sprouted from Cowl's sleeve and was raised threateningly. Albus felt himself take a sharp breath at the boys reflexes and felt a pair of cold eyes land on him.

"We're breaking another rule." Cowl stated flatly, staring pointedly in Albus' direction.

"Fuck your rules. Piss off old man, nothing to see here." another boy yelled, waving an arm towards the end of the alley.

"Remember I'm watching." the smallest boy murmured, taking two steps along the wall until his feet reached the shadows thrown by the building. Albus raised his eyebrow as the distinct taste of magic briefly winked into existence and the boy melted into the shadow. Stretching his magical senses Albus frowned as he could only find minute traces of the boy's passage.

"Not enough magic for teleportation, not hiding, where did you go?" the archmage pondered as the remaining teens swore and scurried out of the alley. Expanding his senses further Albus almost missed the tiny flicker of the boys magic on the roof of the same building.

"Interesting." summoning his own magic he began to weave a spell, intricate motions of his fingers tying together invisible threads of power until the lattice took definitive form and expended the power contained within.

For a brief moment Albus was subjected to a squeezing pressure along his whole body before he disappeared from the ground and reappeared on the roof of the building with a soft '_pop'. _Cowl had been pacing the edge of the room and jumped at the sound, almost toppling off the roof in surprise.

"You are a rather interesting individual, young Shadow." there was a brief flash of teeth, somewhere between a smile and a grimace from beneath the hood.

"Nothing of interest here Mage. Just a few rats settling problems." the boy suddenly jerked his whole body, diving towards the long shadows that covered portions of the roof.

A reflexive wave of Albus' hand froze the hooded boy before he could manage more then a handful of steps.

"Relax young one. I only wish to ask you a few questions, then perhaps open up a new path for you. Could you do me the favor of listening?" Albus gave a small smile, feeling the boy's resistance against his magic waning.

"I can hear." his tone was guarded, cautious.

"You are a wizard young man. One of many, though very few ever display the aptitude for shadows you do. I am... was a teacher for many like you. If you desire I could have you enrolled in any of the many magical schools across the world, to learn more about your gift and how to use it."

"Learning just fine by myself."

"True, there are not many who can put together teleportation spells at your age regardless of medium. But surely you have questions, ideas that would be easier to discuss and implement around others who could understand."

"Too many responsibilities for me here." Albus frowned slightly as the sent of magic began to grow.

"I assure you it would only make you more capable in your duties to spend some time learning how to properly use your gifts."

"Don't have time to spare." as soon as the words faded Albus found himself ducking a reaching spike of shadow, several others swirling along the roof-top around him.

"Marvelous." a small sun erupted to life in his hand, forcing the swirling pools of dark away. "I cannot even begin to understand how difficult it must have been for you to learn this unaided."

"You can see magic everywhere, sometimes understand it if you look hard enough. And I looked very, very hard Mage." Albus blinked as the boy's voice came from the edge of the roof. Turning he caught sight of the tail end of the cloak as it vanished over the side.

"Indeed you must have." letting the ball of fire dissipate into the wind Albus couldn't help but laugh. "I hope we meet again little Shadow."

* * *

I might continue this idea, when I need a break from the Borderlands story I'm currently working on. But for now this is everything, thus why it's going into the 'pits and bieces' vault.

_~Simply_**Waters~**


	4. Azkaban, oh Azkaban

Another little... well decent sized one-shot of an idea I had. This one revolving around Azkaban. Personally I loved the prison set-up in Chronicles of Riddik, an open environment for cell-mates to do whatever to each other and even the guards are hesitant to enter. Not really cannon but I liked the thought of doing something similar while messing around with some of the less explained magics like runes.

I don't own anything and make no profit from this work.

* * *

Just off the coast of the British isles a large mountain of jagged stone loomed. Chiseled from the reluctantly yielding stone a fortress had been constructed, but not to defend the lord or lady of the land. Instead the squat castle was designed to hold the most vicious, most heinous, and most depraved criminals of a society ninety percent of the world knew nothing about.

Men who murdered their own children with a smile had broken down in tears upon a sentence to the infamous prison. Those steeped in a tradition of dark rituals and twisted desires spoke of it in only the most hushed of tones. It was the ultimate deterrent for those who toed the line with the law, or those who controlled those laws.

Immensely aged stones weathered year after year of crashing waves, the moist chill working its way through the halls and stealing much of the sparse comforts of its inhabitants. The reek of salt pervaded the entirety of the structure, dulling the senses of all who even approached its walls. The only approach to the intimidating structure was a small footpath that wound treacherously along a twisted spur of slick rock, more then one potential inmate or member of their escort squad had fallen to death or serious injury. A few of those dead had even thrown themselves willingly to the sea rocks instead of pass through the salt-stained doors at the end of the path.

The island fortress of Azkaban. Home to over six hundred assorted criminals, guards, and government officials. The dregs of a society gathered and conveniently left to rot together so their influence wouldn't stain the rest of the culture that sentenced them. There was no law within the walls of Azkaban, those rights and privileges were left on the shore.

The upper levels of the citadel held cells for the highest profile and shortest termed inmates, their security practically flawless and routinely updated and revised. These levels were the only ones the guards dared traverse in anything less then a half-dozen. To wander Azkaban alone in uniform was a death sentence as assured as gravity. The prisoners contained on these levels were those who were suppose to be kept alive for one reason or another. Individuals who might be asked about by wealthy families, or had once held a seat of power. People who could prove useful for one political campaign or another.

The ground floors were split, the half closest to the doors housed the guards quarters and offices, as well as the kitchens and it's small staff that supplied the living inhabitants with energy to continue their miserable existence. From the upper floors to this level Azkaban stayed a fairly standard prison. It was the other half and the massive catacombs below that gave the fortress its reputation. Ancient protections and walled off corridors held back the ghouls that were quite literally capable of sucking the very souls of their captives with a kiss. Into this death-trap those individuals who lacked the luck to be of noble birth or potentially politically usefulness were condemned.

Inside the cramped, twisted halls of the true prison there was only one rule: Survive at all cost.

Survive the cold, wet environment. Survive on the meager amounts of food that made their way past the walls. Survive the other inmates. And most of all, survive the wardens of the true Azkaban.

Dementors.

Black ghosts that carried the chill of death with them everywhere they glided. Beings that no one knew the origins of, and honestly no one truly wanted to find out. Merely being within the halls of Azkaban allowed one to feel their presence, a sucking void that plucked every happy memory and replaced it with the most bitter and terrifying moments of ones life. Men in the upper levels went mad all to often and they never even came within a hundred feet of a Dementor for the duration of their stay.

Those in the lower levels rarely survived their sentences, though this fact was routinely forgotten. The few who did came back as something unrecognizable. Their very being crippled and riddled with scars so deep nothing could ever sew them back together. In this frost covered hell on earth nothing had thrived but the ghosts that haunted the halls.

It was in these forsaken halls that a young man finally found the strength necessary for an attempt to establish himself as the undisputed champion of his generation.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

"We shouldn't be here." a hoarse voice whispered through moldy corridors.

"Nine-toes wants the shite's head. And he gets what he wants." another ragged voice hissed back.

"Except for this bloke. Com'on Francis, we both know Nine-toes has been trying to get this kid ever since he ripped Finch's head off."

"And you know if we wanna eat sometime in the next week we better at least _try _to get our hands on him."

two mangy figures ghosted down the halls, peering through the various bars and doors that outlined the cells along each wall. Robes that hung together by the thinnest of strings covered in muck and filth hiding the emaciated flesh underneath. A long sliver of sharpened bone clenched in the right hand of each figure twitched with every sound.

"Bloody hell." Francis muttered, shoving what once was dirty blonde hair from his eyes. "We might have to go take another pound of flesh from Twitter if he was lying about his hang-outs."

"I won't complain about some more _body_ to the soup when we get back." his companion snorted, shoving another door open and peering through.

"Bloke's the only one our resident sociopath hasn't gutted just for seeing him."

"That's cause he was here when they brought him in, Twitter's was his mentor or some shite."

A creak drew the gazes of both men towards the walled off end off the tunnel. The slamming that followed had each a full foot off the ground then ducking into cells. Breathing heavily Francis glanced towards his companion before cautiously sneaking a glimpse of the hall. His quick intake prompting his partner to look as well.

At the end of the hall, standing in front of the pile of rubble that blocked them from the other half of the prison a slender figure paced. Midnight black hair fell around his shoulders in stringy, matted clumps, starkly contrasting with his almost luminescent skin. Instead of tattered robes the remains of a long-sleeve shirt and pants, now reduced to ragged shorts, floated about in the errant breeze generated by his movements.

"Bugger me." the shorter man hissed, "Harry Bloody Potter in the flesh."

"Don't say his god-damned name! You got a death-wish?" Francis countered frantically, still keeping his voice to a bare whisper.

"Fuck did you see that?" a look down the hall revealed their quarry had vanished.

"We have to go. Now." trembling Francis slipped out of the cell and hurriedly started to retrace their steps, head swiveling at an unhealthy speed. "Had to say that bloody name didn't you."

"It's just a name!"

"Just like You-Know-Who is just a name." Francis spit back. "You don't say the Ghosts name if you want to live!"

"I was wondering what kind of rats decided to visit." both men froze as a new voice drifted around them lazily. The third cell door ahead of them swung lightly open as the youth casually stepped out in front of them.

"Now what might two fine gentlemen such as yourselves be doing in _my_ territory?" his voice was smooth, lacking the raspy quality that most inmates developed in response to terrible food and worse conditions.

"J-just got lost." Francis quickly sputtered, discretely twisting his bone shiv behind his leg. Dark green eyes flicked over the other two, then settled for meeting Francis' own pale blue.

"Well in that case I'm very sorry." with a sigh the boy started walking towards them. "Do forgive my rudeness and let yourselves out."

As the green-eyed boy drew closer Francis pressed himself against the wall, desperate to maintain as much distance from the living ghost as possible. The temperature dropped harshly as the youth stepped past him, causing a multitude of shivers to course through the larger man.

A sigh of relief was cut short as Francis' companion suddenly shouted in panic and lunged. Francis squealed and backpedaled as a practically glowing white hand flashed out and casually brushed the shiv away from him, causing it's wielder to stumble into an open cell.

As much as he wanted to turn and race away Francis couldn't pull his eyes from the boy as a slender rod appeared in his own hand. His eyes refused to move as the rod began to rip through the air in precise arcs, faster and faster until it and the arm attached to it disappeared into a shimmering blur. He couldn't blink, but his whole body cringed when the screams from the cell echoed out into the hall and raced past him to escape. His foot caught a stray stone and sent the man rolling, wet pops and crackling from the cell leaving him trembling on the floor without the strength to rise.

Unperturbed the boy continued his actions for a few more seconds before his arm stilled. Eyes and head rotating to fix Francis in their sight and the man felt himself grow cold at how feverishly _bright_ those eyes had become. He almost missed the crumpled body of his former colleague as it hurtled into the wall, twisted and mangled beyond recognition. He could hear whimpering, and shortly realized it was coming from his mouth, as an eight-foot figure of brick and stone lurched out of the cell and loomed behind the boy.

"You should probably try to run." and the spell was broken as Francis scrambled like mad to reach his feet and throw himself down the hallway. His speed doubling when the tell-tale grinding and thuds of the boy's animated doll started after him.

Francis was in tears when the door from the hall came into focus, it was small for a door, much to small for the terrible animation to fit through. His heart thundering louder then the footsteps of the abomination behind him Francis almost screamed in victory when his hand reached the door. A quick twist, pull, and Francis found himself on the floor staring in horror as his relief curled up into a tiny ball and died in his mouth. All along the door-frame previously unnoticed scratches began to glow, highlighting themselves with the pale blue fire of _magic_.

"B-but this isn't right" he whispered. All the inhabitants of Azkaban had known how to do magic at one point in their lives, but most magic required a wand and those had been taken from the inmates long before they ever reached the island hell. Only a rare few had received training in magic that didn't require a wand, and even fewer could remember those skills after constant exposure to the soul-sucking presence of the Dementors. Francis was not one of those luck individuals, but it was becoming exceedingly clear to him that Harry Potter was.

Red stained stone fingers came to rest on his shoulders and Francis couldn't find the strength to even put up a token struggle. There was nothing he carried that had any chance of stopping a runecaster who had already locked him in a small corridor with an animated golem. Shortly he was lifted off the ground and facing the boy as he wandered into view and peered at the scratches around the door.

"Hmmm... I have to disagree, my work is... while horridly far from optimal at least adequate." rapping the door with the back of his hand the black-haired boy turned and smiled before pointing to the scratches. "These couple here are for locking, this for drawing ambient magic, surprising how much you can find in a place like this what with Dementors floating about willy-nilly. Where was I? Oh yes, this sequence here is the trigger, set to activate the locking runes fifteen seconds after anyone unauthorized comes through... Which is everyone really, maybe I should just make it go off for anything?" the shiver inducing calm in his tone bleed off into contagious enthusiasm as a slender finger rubbed over his chin.

"Oh, pardon me, got off on a bit of a tangent really. Don't have a chance to do this much these days." another closed eye grin then the boy fixed his gaze on Francis' eyes.

"Your going to die today." the utter finality of his statement left the larger man with no delusions about what Harry Potter, The-Bloody-Ghost-of-Azkaban, was going to do to him.

"Crushed into a paste then dropped in old Nine-toes soup pot. Don't feel too bad, it happens all the time. Best part is you'll be partly responsible for keeping the majority of the folk on this side of the wall alive!" another smile and Harry started trotting down the hall, his stone animation following and dragging Francis along.

"Really is for the Greater Good and all, I hope you don't feel to bad. Any kids? Wife? Family? Hell how about friends? I use to have a couple of those, great things they are. Anyway, let me know and I'll be sure to send them notice that their scumbag Father, Husband; Son, Uncle or Friend has finally slipped their mortal coil and gone screaming and pleading straight to hell. Luckily in a great act of selflessness you donated your body to the betterment of the inmates of true Azkaban, I'll leave that on your tombstone." pausing at the crumpled body of the second man Harry frowned.

"Drat, forgot to get his name... Oh well. We wouldn't want to lessen the impact of such a selfless sacrifice by doing it twice." the bone rod was once again in Harry's hand and a few short flicks latter Francis stumbled free and collapsed to his knees in front of the boy.

"Your a lucky man, you know that right?" green eyes peered into his own, cold slender fingers tilting his head this way and that for a few seconds before withdrawing. "You never said my name, so I suppose you can bring him back and tell his story... You know his story right?"

"N-no."

"Stupid. Haven't even been here that long and the Dementors already sucked away your brains. Shame really, they could have been useful once upon a time. Right, so your friend... you mind if I call him your friend?" Francis quickly shook his head. "Course, so your friend here has valiantly decided to commit suicide, all so that his remains can go in the pot and help the rest of you make it through another day here in Azkaban. Noble, so very noble... Must have been a true Huffelpuff to make such a gesture. Almost brings a tear to my eye." a quick swipe at imaginary tears and Harry's eyes were boring into Francis' again.

"Course... Your stupid so I have to tell you this right out so you get it." Like flicking a switch Harry was suddenly centimeters from Francis' face, eyes flaring as he roared. "He's your bargaining chip to getting out of this tunnel with your life. He's my message to the pretentious _ass_ Nine-toes to stay the _FUCK_ out of my business, and your gonna drag his sorry carcass right to the smug bastard and tell him exactly what kind of short, bloody reckoning is waiting for anyone who comes through my door without a god-damn invitation and wearing their best dress-robes. I _OWN_ this little corner of Azkaban and I don't have any intention of leaving or sharing it till I'm feeling the need for greener pastures."

Once again the switch flipped and there was only a young man with bright green eyes and a half-smirk. "We clear?"

"Crystal." a full smile was his reward as Harry turned without pause and resumed his march to the end of the corridor where Francis had first laid eyes on him.

Freezing for a moment Francis scarcely believed it when the construct behind him melted away into the floor. Several more minutes were spent trembling and sweating before he came to his senses and gathered up the broken and bleeding mess that had been his partner for the day. No tears were shed, death was far to common a thing in Azkaban. Life, especially after an encounter with the Living Ghost, was a far more precious commodity and Francis was more then happy to accept it.

Stumbling slightly over the extra weight Francis made his way to the exit as quickly as possible, sighing in relief as the magic in the runes faded away and the handle turned underneath his palm. Jerking the door wide and settling his burden Francis looked one last time down the hall and saw green eyes fixed on him as the boy smiled widely.

"Your still going to die today."

Francis paled as the freezing tendrils, a tell-tale sign of their inhuman wardens, began to worm into his mind. His recent joy at being granted another day of life quickly sucked away into the endless void that was the Dementor's hunger. Frost raced down the hall he now found himself, only halting momentarily at the rune-guarded door of Potter's sanctuary before skipping past to continue it's stalled progress. Black cloaks swirled as they slowly seeped up the corridor.

Before Francis could even contemplate a course of action the door in his hand jerked free and slammed shut in his face, bricks sliding from the surrounding walls until it was nothing more then another unremarkable surface.

"_You should probably try to run."_ Potters voice echoed in his head, and Francis was all to happy to comply.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

The sucking presence of the Dementors descended around him but Harry pushed it aside with practiced efforts. A young woman screaming and a man yelling for her to take their child and run in his head was nothing new, it had almost become a source of comfort in his time since entering Azkaban. Roughly reinforcing the meager shields around his mind Harry Potter turned to the cork of rubble and spells that had been stuffed into the corridor of Azkaban that had become his home.

The smooth feel of his runic catalyst relaxed him, half-giant bone soaked in Dementor ooze and then carved by hand. No one knew if the ooze was blood, waste, or saliva but it was a form of lesser catalyst that could be found within the sprawling length of Azkaban. Half-giants were rare, but more then a few had made their way to Azkaban over the years and they rarely lasted long, far more valuable as parts then as muscle, they ate too much. Even giants had to sleep, and their thick hide could only stop so many shivs.

_'Half-giants usually get a mix of traits from their giant parent. Most giants eat very little in comparison to their size, it's actually their magic that provides most of the sustenance they require. The remainder goes into strengthening their body so it doesn't simply collapse under it's own weight. Giants are resistant to spells because their body is naturally accustomed to absorbing and utilizing magic unlike Dragons which...'_

Harry felt his lip quirk for a moment before hastily cramming the memory back into the depths of his mind. A conversation with a friend, one of many conversations he had listened to half-heartedly and practically forgotten until his mental training had begun. These half-forgotten conversations had saved his life from the very second he had entered Azkaban, one girls chatter over her homework through the years had given him the tools to survive. And after months of mere survival he had begun to _thrive_.

_'Runes are just another language. A language that tells both a story and gives instructions. Like this rune here... This one says 'Key', you can use it to turn a normal key into something like a skeleton key, of course most locks sold by wizards already incorporate protections for this sort of thing. The interesting part is that you could turn something else into a 'Key', like... Say take the King from Ron's chess set! We could make that piece 'Unlock' the game by placing it on the board, letting us play the game, or 'Lock' the game by removing it from the board. Does that make sense Harry? The best part is you can start writing whole conversations, like this here.'_

_The sound of shuffling papers and a fresh sheet was quickly covered in neat scrawl._

_'This paper is the key to my Runes assignment.' she translated for him._

_A slender wand lightly tapped the runes after the sheet was laid on top a roll of parchment. A brief flash latter smooth fingers lifted the sheet away and the parchment rolled itself up and was laid in his hands._

_'Go ahead. Try and open it!'_

_He could remember the feel of the paper, and the paper-cuts he had nursed for the rest of the day, but her laughter had made it worth the trouble._

He had carved that rune for twelve hours during his first week in Azkaban, desperate to hold onto both the sound of her voice, and the priceless gift of her knowledge. Four months after he had carved every rune he had ever seen, even those he didn't know the meaning of. And now however many years later he had delved so deep into those lectures, studied the meaning behind each line and every stroke that he could _feel_ them. They were his obsession, his focus, the constant revision and extrapolation keeping him from falling under the oppressive force of the Dementors.

Time lost meaning after the first few months, it wasn't hard to lose track of time and easy enough to find a new arrival to drag the date out of. He had socialized early on, as young teenager dumped in hell he had been more then willing to jump in line behind those who had proven crafty or vicious enough to survive. He had cried, thrown up, shivered and been taken advantage of in every sense. Those lessons proved the downfall of his happy Azkaban family. Harry had learned, incorporated, and adapted until he had sucked everything from those who originally tormented him.

How to survive almost entirely on his own magic force. Sure his _Lumos_ spell would probably hardly light up a broom-closet any more but he could avoid food for a month if needed, and considering what the majority of the food in Azkaban included that was worth the trade. What magic he did have left was more then enough to activate most rudimentary rune schemes, and he could always eat if he needed access to more of his magic. One of the side effects of this method was the luminescence of his skin, and the fact that he had barely grown an inch since coming to Azkaban.

Runecasters. The title given to those in Azkaban who could still work magic in the form of runes. At first he had ignored them, wallowing in his depression, but then he had begun to watch. He began to learn, his secret memories safe as he had never practiced runes before, mastering the only craft that could protect someone within the dreary halls. How to repel Dementors, how to create his runic focus, how to imbue objects with will and direction. He had slaughtered the greatest rune masters of Azkaban the day he left their ranks, and left scores of others behind protections that would fail all too soon.

But most importantly, how to plan ahead. At age eleven he had been given a choice, the choice to charge danger recklessly and with selfless abandon, or the choice to see the pieces on the board and manipulate them. Desperate as a child to avoid evil he had chosen to be a pawn, to let others do the thinking while he charged ever forward at their pointing. Azkaban took in that little boy and broke him, gutted him, but gave the shredded remains time to make the needed changes before they could be ultimately destroyed.

He had always had potential, best student in Defense since Tom Riddle, perhaps even Albus Dumbledor. Gifted Seeker with incredible hand-eye coordination and natural aptitude on a broom that left him flying circles around almost any challenger. Always willing to turn another cheek when insulted, slandered, or manipulated. Steadfastly loyal to his friends and more then willing to take a killing blow for just about anyone if it made the world a better place.

It had all taken less then a year for Azkaban to smash the puppet and let loose an uncontainable beast with at best questionable morals. There was no room in hell for second chances, Harry's first death had driven that point home. Bound and used, his blood slowly drained to thicken the soup, Nine-toes laughing in his kitchen as Harry slowly faded away. All because he had trusted the wrong man to watch his back.

He had met death in that cupboard, and death took something away from him before sending him back to his personal hell.

_'This is not the only time we will meet child. Your hand is far from played, and I will not take one such as you before their time."_

Absently Harry's hand rubbed his forehead, revealing a red lightning bolt carved into his flesh for a brief second.

He had escaped the second cupboard of his life far more dramatically then the first. Cutting down those who stood in his way until he escaped into tunnels so deep even the most experienced Azkaban veteran trembled in fear. His lessons were put through the ultimate test immediately afterward as he battled for his life against the demons that infested the lowest levels. It was not a battle that could be won, Dementors were not truly living and could not be killed. But they could be avoided, blinded, circumvented, and Harry had survived long enough to sneak back and establish his own kingdom, population: one.

Retaliation for his death quickly followed and left Azkaban thirty inmates lighter and stories of a new horror stalking the halls. Runemasters who had survived for decades in Azkaban were found all throughout it's halls, the primitive council of leaders had been culled to the man, and none had seen them die. After the cull those who rallied to find and dispose of Harry Potter found their leaders turning up dead or 'kissed', and soon enough Harry Potters name became taboo throughout Azkaban.

With lust for revenge sated and lessons learned Harry finally turned his eyes to a new goal. Escape Azkaban island. Which was why he found himself pacing in a dead end corridor, runically warded from the Dementors senses, and plotting.

Myth: It is impossible to escape Azkaban prison.

Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had done so. Harry had never asked how, but if his godfather had done it he could as well. While he lacked the ability to take an animal form he was not without his own unique advantages.

Fact: It is bloody fucking difficult to escape Azkaban prison.

After a month of observation and shadowing Harry was fairly certain his godfather had escaped from the upper level, while still an accomplishment worthy of praise it had to be easier then escaping lower Azkaban. Dementors randomly swarmed to different pathways, Wardens watched every exit twenty-four hours a day in groups of six for four hour shifts, and hundreds of passageways had been blocked off or collapsed. There was no hope to find a way out by going lower, Dementors only grew in numbers the deeper one traveled and even Harry didn't dare go too deep. The deeper you went the more vicious and hungry the Dementors grew, starving and desperate for any shred of emotion they could scrounge. Even an animal's emotions would be almost irresistible the further you delved into Azkaban.

"Step one." Harry muttered, pausing his pacing and beginning to sketch runes on a wall. "Discover any traces or evidence of Sirius' attempt to escape, incorporate or adapt anything useful."

"Step two. Devise plan of action, aim for minimum contact and exposure. Ideally escape without anyone learning a thing. Substep. Leave false trail?"

"Step three. Find someplace to hole up outside Azkaban. Avoid former friends, avoid places of importance. Secure sources of information."

"Step four. Secure funding, allies as required, and plan." stepping back from the wall Harry let his eyes drift over the outline. It was crude, but he had never been able to stack up with people like Hermione or Dumbledore for planning purposes.

He had something to do outside these walls, after all this time he didn't know what exactly, but it wasn't his time yet. Most likely killing or neutralizing Tom Riddle since the magical world seemed completely incapable of doing _anything_ that involved him in any way shape or form. Equally possible that he would just tear down the wizarding government one individual at a time, perhaps then they could put something together that was capable of standing on it's own two feet without being alternatively sucked dry or pumped full of cash from one family or another. That information lay outside the walls of his prison though so Harry didn't spend too much time contemplating it.

For now he had enough to work off of.

"Start step one." a tap on the wall with his half-giant-bone focus and the runes faded from view.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

"What do you have for me Twitter." an ancient looking man raised an eyebrow as he turned towards the door that had been his for the last decade.

"Mister Potter, do come in." the figure strode easily into the dim room. Furnishings included a sleeping slab and a roughly cobbled together writing desk of stone. One of the grander cells in lower Azkaban.

"What sort of things are you looking for today? Rumors of the contents of the soup? News of fresh blood ignorant enough to test your legend? Perhaps a remote location for a more... private liaison with one of the inmates? I have many answers, but only you can ask the questions."

"It will be a shame when lower Azkaban is stripped of your wisdom, Twitter."

"If only you knew Mister Potter." absently rubbing the stump of his left hand the old man seated himself on the slab

"I want information. Information about Sirius Black." the old man rocked back, pursing his lips as Harry squatted on his heels. "You were here when he escaped, probably were here when he arrived."

"Indeed I was. Young Black was a fierce thing when he was first dragged in, always raging and muttering about one rat or another. The Dementors quieted him soon enough, drawn to all that emotion, and were more then happy to part him from it. My second grand-son was still living at the time so I had a cell nearby, the Dementors use to swarm to him like nothing else every time they were given a walk about."

"Thirteen years is a long time, and here that might as well be an eternity."

"Don't speak as if you'd know _boy_!" for a moment the veneer of an old man slipped and cold fury burned in dark eyes. Loathing and disgust for the life before him sneering out of a grandfatherly face. Quickly enough emotions were once again hidden and the wise old man was back. "You've only been with us a short time young Mister Potter, and already thinking your ready to slip away from the halls of Azkaban."

"Just because Nine-toes is starting to take pieces of you is no reason to be surly old man." Harry snapped back, Twitters hand going to the stump of his left hand on reflex. "Give me something useful and I might even leave you a present before I vanish."

"I'm afraid our mutual friend Mister Black was quite... personal with most of his thoughts that didn't correspond with rats. There is simply nothing I can share about his plans with you Mister Potter."

"About what I was expecting. I suppose we shall part ways here then Twitter. I doubt I'll come for you again." rising smoothly to his feet Harry glided towards the cell door. "It's a shame I'll have to dismantle these repelling runes but you'll understand right?" his white focus suddenly snapping into his hand and starting to trace the runes that lined the door.

"Insufferable _PRAT_!" the old man roared, coming to his own feet and striding towards his antagonist as a focus of his own slipped from his sleeve.

"I knew these weren't Corgie's work, far to neat." Harry snickered as his focus slipped from tracing runes on the door to sketching them on the wall next too it, quickly dissolving into a blur of white.

"I took you in! I taught you everything you needed to survive! I bloody well helped you build that focus you ungrateful cur!" Twitters own focus snapped to the ground and started to sketch as well, his lowered posture the only thing that kept the spear of stone that shot from the wall where Harry sketched from ripping him in half.

"Indeed you did, and you taught me so very, very much Twitter. I know you have something in that head I can use. You'll give it to me or I'll simply crush you to paste like everyone else who thought they could get one over on me."

Abandoning his half-completed rune scheme Harry dove over a wave of spike rock that rumbled through the floor at Twitters urging. Even as he rolled past the sleeping slab his focus sought it out and scratched a quick series of lines. As Harry rose to his feet the slab morphed and spat a series of fist sized stones towards Twitter, forcing the older man to gracelessly dive to the floor so he could continue his rune work. His younger opponent had already finished another scheme and was quickly building up one of his greater constructs, massive arms slowly rising from the floor and groping blindly for something to pummel

"_This stone shall become man, it shall bend to my will, this stone shall strike my enemies._" Harry quoted. "This was always one of my favorites, it's a shame Finch couldn't be bothered to come up with more schemes. He had something of a gift."

With a grunt Twitter put the finishing scratches in his own scheme and activated it before one of the bricks thrown from the wall collided with his ribs and sent him tumbling across the floor.

"Very nice work Twitter. I'm impressed." even as he spoke Harry was ducking under a stone tentacle that burst from the floor and slipping behind his construct as it slowly pulled it's feet from the floor. A second and third tentacle soon followed the first and wrapped the humanoid golem in their length. A stressed groan played herald to the golems left leg and arm being ripped from the figure. Armed with new clubs two tentacles proceeded to lash out at the pale boy as he focused his efforts on avoiding the heavy blows.

Sketching furiously Harry had to abandon a handful of schemes one after the other as the tentacles chased him around the room. Frowning the boy sketched a rune while pointing his focus at the maimed golem. With another rumble the figure broke in half and began to reform into two separate dolls. The swinging tentacles, directed by Twitter, made short work of them but gave Harry time to double back and finish three of his previously abandoned schemes.

A large blade of stone swung out just over waist height and shattered two of the tentacles, and was quickly followed by two spears of stone that slammed into the far wall before exploding into shrapnel. Not expecting the explosion Twitter cried out as half a dozen finger-sized shards of stone peppered his arms, legs and back. A final rune scheme activated and gave birth to a tentacle similar to Twitters that quickly wrapped and contained the final piece of Twitters active scheme.

"Well that was entertaining." Harry sniffed, tugging the front of his rags as he stalked to the bleeding man. "Now, lets try this one more time shall we?"

A rag-covered foot slammed ancient bones against the floor and several pops leaked out before Twitter howled as his fingers were ground against the floor and his focus. A Second stomp freed the focus which was quickly tossed to the far side of the room and a final kick laid him out on his back as Harry straddled him and met a defiant gaze with his own.

"Now what the fuck do you know Twitter?" letting the man wheeze for a bit Harry sighed and pressed down with his knee, grinding the stone slivers deeper into the other man's body and drawing a fresh squeal of pain. "I can do this all day Tweets, your gonna bleed to death pretty quick if you don't hurry up. Right now I bet you'll even get some time in medical if you play your cards right."

"FUCK! Alright, alright already *cough* get off me for gods sake you bloody psycho."

"Not what I asked for." More weight on his knee drew a pained gasp and labored breathing.

"Amulet... Guards wear... Dementors can't... Can't feel you well with them."

"Well bloody lot of good that will do me, and Black was an Animagus, why the hell would he need an amulet that hides him from Dementors when he can just change into an animal and stroll past 'em?" More weight and the sound of stone grinding on bone.

"Went... Down... Told me... Always down... Had to get to the bottom. Dementors willing to eat anything... anything down there, needed to hide everything... even a Padfoot." Twitter was going deathly pale, the red ring around them spreading.

"Well I'll be, crazy bastard did go down." Harry muttered as he lifted himself off the dying inmate. "Fuck I'm hungry."

Looking down at the spreading pool Harry squirmed slightly as the blood soaked into his foot wrappings, then laughed. Stumbling over to the sleeping slab, now half it's original size as the rest of it had been launched around the room like spitballs, he collapsed and continued laughing. Soon hiccups followed and he curled into a ball, holding his knees and rocking as he stared at the cooling body.

"You know my dad's always die right? James got wasted by a wannabe-Dark-Lord, just over a year after I was born. Dumbledor went and picked himself up a cursed ring for some crazy reason, last I heard he was about to die. Two days later I'm sitting at your feet bawling cause no-one believes me when I tell them Riddle's back and I didn't even get to see Dumbledor's funeral. And now I kill you trying to get out of this hell-hole so I can gut the son-of-a-bitch. You all got rotten luck, having a son like me." chuckles interspersed with hiccups followed for a few minutes before the room quieted.

"Step one, complete... Was it worth it? To have a son for a couple years?" rocking back and forth Harry let his eyes close and soon slumped into sleep on the shrunken stone.

/=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-/

It was warm, just based on that information Harry could deduce he was in one of two places. The prison infirmary, unlikely since he hadn't been banged up enough for that and he didn't know anyone in lower Azkaban who liked him enough to drag his carcass up to the checkpoint. Much easier to bring him to the second location. Nine-toes Kitchen.

"..tter always did find the best toys. Full seven runes on this focus, probably used to be Finch's at one point or another, we'll hand that off to one of the new 'casters after some friendly competition. Go ahead and get them started redoing the Dementor rune-wards."

"Right away Sir."

He didn't need to open his eyes to feel the ropes that held his arms fully extended over his head, not that his arms were really feeling much after hanging with his feet a full foot off the ground for who knows how long. The warmth of the rune stove was a very pleasant change from the ever-present chill of the regular halls. Resolving to get it over with Harry cracked an eye and peeked around.

Large pile of limbs and assorted goodies? Check. Don't forget stink of said limbs. Double check.

Only obese man in Azkaban? Check.

Big pot bubbling on the stove that only Nine-toes knew the current contents of? Check.

Cupboard door behind him? Can't see it but check just for the hell of it.

Confirmed location: Nine-toes Kitchen.

"Bloody wonderful." Harry sighed, opening his eyes fully.

"If it isn't my favorite little _ghost_. Your gonna be the only individual who's been bled dry for the soup twice in history my boy." Jiggling chins and belly flopped about obscenely and Harry almost puked at the sight of so much obvious... overindulgence.

Nine-toes was probably the one individual in Azkaban that actually enjoyed being there. On his first day he had set up his 'kitchen' and donated his own toe to add a bit of _body_ to the soup. From that day forward Nine-toes had defended his position as lower Azkaban cook from all challengers, and used their remains to feed those who worked for him. After Harry had burned a hole through the leadership after his return from below Nine-toes had been quick to step up and start filling in. His prodigious girth and fact that his men were noticeably healthier then most other inmates had lead to his rise as 'Cook-meister', and a more then healthy sum of power over the inmates around him.

All food that came to lower Azkaban, which was not a whole lot, went through his hands at some point or another. Harry would have killed him early, but the man did help keep a lot more inmates alive as a cook then he would as a corpse. The second option was rapidly becoming a very real possibility in Harry's mind though.

"Yippee. Almost forgot to ask, Francis bring you my present?"

"Gave me a full speech that one did. Lemme see..." swirling away far faster then the mans bulk would indicate possible Nine-toes poked through the pile of limbs for a minute before pulling out a vaguely familiar head and started moving the jaw in a talking motion.

"Bloody crazy ghost Sir, told me he's staying in greener pastures he did, said he might be moving on soon though. I don't think we should be bugging him Sir, I really don't think we should. Killed me mate he did, crushed him up like a pretzel and then summons the black cloaks to try and take my soul he does. I'm sorry Sir but he done scared the piss out of me... Can I have some soup?" roaring with laughter Nine-toes let the head drop back into the pile as he walked back towards his dangling company.

"Not gonna lie I like you Potter. Man's got to have a certain _style_ if he wants to make it in this world. You got it my boy, you've had most of lower Azkaban jumping at their own shadows for damn near a year. Chances are those rumors won't ever really go away either." Sighing heavily the fat man leaned against his counter and fixed Harry with a stern gaze.

"Which is why it's a damn shame I'm gonna have to gut you for killing my men."

"In my defense I didn't actually kill either of them, you got one and another decided to commit suicide via bothering people he shouldn't, so really I don't see this being all that necessary personally." trying to shrug Harry wasn't surprised when his numb arms couldn't even manage to start him swaying.

Nine-toes threw his head back and laughed again, belly jumping around like a pack of rats were trying to squirm their way free. Shuddering at the thought Harry looked up at the ceiling, finding his rope had been hung over a fire-poker sunk into the wall a foot down from the top. Mentally judging the distance he started swinging his feet and swinging back and forth towards the closest wall.

Wiping his eyes Nine-toes watched him for a few swings before grabbing a cleaver, as with most of the tools in Azkaban it had been fashioned crudely from the bones of a former inmate or several.

"Alright Potter, I'll admit I like you and you got a sense of humor, but all good things come to an end and I'm afraid your times up." running his thumb down the blade the obese man smiled right before Harry's feet met the wall.

Kicking off with all the power he could force into his legs Harry grinned as the poker in the wall groaned and bent, then frowned when he didn't drop dramatically from the ceiling to the floor.

"Second times the charm?" he snarled, swinging back and narrowly avoiding losing a foot to Nine-toes cleaver. As he slammed into the wall his knees bent and once again he launched himself away from the wall as fast as possible.

There was a loud squeal this time but the poker refused to bend completely and Harry yelped as the cleaver cut a deep line down the back of his left leg. Spinning like a top from the sudden impact Harry wasn't able to orient himself and slammed face-first into the wall. The poker over his head finally giving out and dropping him in a heap as Nine-toes cleaver scrapped along the wall where his belly had been.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Tears in his eyes Harry rolled awkwardly away from the dangerous cleaver as his shoulders burned with returned blood-flow. Nine-toes started screaming for help as Harry dove for the counter, eyes fixed on his bone focus. His hands stopped sharply a full foot and a half before the table but Harry's momentum pulled his legs out from under him and he ended up fully extended before gravity caught up and dropped him on his back against the floor.

Wheezing the boy's eyes widened as the bone-white cleaver screamed through the air towards his eye. Jerking his head Harry winced as the cleaver bounced of the rock and drew another deep line along his cheek.

"Watch it with that thing!" he groused, rolling to the side to avoid a stomp that would probably have flattened his ribs. Glancing around quickly Harry dove over the stove then shot back over on the far side of the pot. Racing full speed he quickly drew the rope taunt, dragging the massive pot from it's semi-permanent place over the burner.

Nine-toes gaped as the cookware groaned ominously before tipping over completely, spilling boiling liquid across the room. The fat man was quick enough to duck away from the initial spray, his minions racing through the door were not so fortunate and more then one screamed in pain as the fluid seared their skin. Harry had already reversed direction, coiling the rope as he ran before depositing the whole bundle on top the burner and swearing as it slowly crackled.

"How do you turn up the heat Toes?" he shouted, glaring at the rope that continued it's sedated progress towards charcoal. "Ah fuck." ducking a thrown brick Harry once again pelted towards the counter where his focus lay covered in near-boiling soup. The weakened rope threw his step off before snapping, spinning the boy around several times before he slammed chest first into the table.

"Hot! Hot, hot, hot!" he chanted, willing his figuratively and literally burning fingers to close around the rod of bone. "Bugger me."

Giving up on his fingers as Nine-toes pulled himself around the corner of the counter and another three goons trampled over their moaning companions to get in Harry jammed the focus into the knots that bound his wrists. Praying it would hold Harry rolled over the counter to avoid another wild swing of the cleaver and jumped towards the goons screaming. They parted like water, wanting nothing to do with the faintly glowing figure and Harry was in the hall pounding towards the checkpoint before they gathered their wits.

Tenderly prodding his nose Harry scowled for a moment before focusing on getting feeling back into his fingers. He already had Nine-toes and a small pack of inmates gaining ground on him. Losing them in his current condition would be difficult.

"Or I could do something... Gryffindorish." shuddering Harry took a turn and finally smiled as he saw the checkpoint appear before him.

There were three checkpoints from Azkaban prison into lower Azkaban, each had a full sift of six highly trained members of the wizard world police Auror's force stationed to hold any outbreaks until reinforcements showed up. With a very narrow corridor leading to the check point there was next to no chance of the prisoners overwhelming the guards before help arrived. Harry didn't even slow down as one after another the jaws of the guards dropped as he charged up the kill zone alone.

"Freedom!" he screamed as Nine-toes and his merry band rounded the corner and came into view of the six guards.

One of the Auror's immediately stepped back and pointed his wand towards his throat in preparation to sound the alarm as the other five stepped forward and blasted off a volley of stunning curses. Harry flopped to the ground and found he had finally worked up enough bloodflow to get his fingers working. Within the second his runic focus was darting back and forth across the ground and a wave of rocks were being projected into the defensive lines. Two slightly overlapping shields snapped into place immediately and the remaining three defenders stepped to their places with practiced precision before firing more red stunning lights at the boy who desperately rolled to avoid them.

"**Prisoner break, checkpoint two. Repeat. Prisoner break, checkpoint two." **an enchanted voice bellowed through the castle.

"Bugger." rolling back and forth to avoid stunners Harry focused on finishing several ward schemes, spending half a minute ducking back and forth before several tentacles sprouted and grabbed for the wizards behind their shields. Shortly after a second wave of bricks and rock was shot into the beleaguered defenders and finally a golem rose to it's full height. Panting and holding his stomach Harry crouched painfully behind the last titan and focused on directing his constructs. With so many going it was difficult to preform anything but basic maneuvers, but secured behind his golem Harry was fairly safe from return fire.

Several more seconds passed before he managed to pummel the line enough to grab on of the guards with tentacles. Blasting and boring hexes quickly reduced his constructed feelers into rubble but they managed to drag his victim close enough for the golem to grab before spinning around bringing the white faced woman face-to-face with Harry.

Snatching her wand and tossing it to the far side of the room Harry grabbed the collar of her uniform and with a quick "Sorry Miss." ripped the fabric open. Noticing two necklaces Harry sighed, apologized, and pulled both over the ladies head. A wave of blasting curses sent rubble all across the room and Harry, distracted by the slumping of his constructed defender, was quickly introduced to one of the disadvantages of being male. The Auror's knee slammed heavily into his crotch and Harry wordlessly dropped to his knees, the woman continued to rip free from the currently lifeless hands of the golem and darted towards her wand.

Seeing the hostage free the remaining Auror's opened up with every blasting curse and boring hex they could muster. The golem maintained it's form for a few rounds, but ultimately was crushed under the wave of firepower. By the time it had completely lost cohesion Harry had hobbled a fair stretch back down the kill-zone a stone wall oozing along behind him like a puppy.

Thankfully Harry was able to duck around the corner before a concentrated group of Auror's could be assembled to chase him. Leaning against the wall he groaned as his stomach, normally perfectly calm and quiet, roared loudly at his overuse of the magic that normally kept it sedated.

"Bloody tired." he was still panting, his body overheated and sweating bullets. The Azkaban diet was anything but complementary to excessive physical activity, and Harry had been nothing but excessively active ever since two inmates had woken him this morning. He had always been skinny, bordering the line of malnutrition his entire life, his body lacked muscle and fat. He had been tiny for his fifteen years of age when he walked into Azkaban, and it had not done him any favors. Shoving down his ravening desire for _any_ form of food Harry picked himself up, it was time to get moving before either of the parties hot and bothered for his blood started calling.

Looking at the necklaces dangling in his hand Harry smiled.

"Part two. Start." maybe Gryffindor impulses still had some uses.

* * *

Didn't really like the later portions, things moved too quickly and didn't really make sense. But it was still fun to write.

_~Simply_**Waters~**


End file.
